


When I'm Gone

by Edgar_Allen_No



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Author Projecting onto TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Brotherly Angst, But he's still a dick, Child Neglect, Dark Wilbur Soot, Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost Wilbur Soot, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jschlatt is Toby Smith | Tubbo's Parent, Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Manipulation, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Murder-Suicide, Not Canon Compliant, Parent Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sad, Sad Ending, Sad Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide, Tired Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, Tommy is my favorite character but in this i really make him suffer, TommyInnit Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, c!schlatt would've been a horrible parent man, im sorry, not me projecting onto my favorite character and streamer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgar_Allen_No/pseuds/Edgar_Allen_No
Summary: ///// not a canon retelling or interpretation, this is more a how it could have happened, rather than a how it did happen /////If Wilbur ever broke inside, he never showed it to his brothers, especially Tommy. Tommy looked up to him so much and Wilbur could never bear to destroy that image his little brother had of him. But it was hard. Keeping all these feelings inside and not letting them out for anyone else to see. So when Tommy finds him at one of his lowest moments, who's to blame Wilbur when he finally let's his brother see how he really feels?///// Don't let the summary fool you, this is a tommy-centric fic I just couldn't think of a better summary /////Playlist :]https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0gVDi0CfahlCCg67nXA7iV?si=G0ykKdkRQnqZALNP5uQs_g
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 22
Kudos: 239





	1. Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! I just want to say to please read the tags before reading because there will be potentially triggering topics expressed in this piece such as death, suicide, self-harm, betrayal, and overall dark and saddening ideas so please read only if you're comfortable with all of those topics being explored into and described for most of this fic!! This is only the first chapter, but I have plans for later chapters that will contain more angst and will be the reason for the tags! So while it may not be that bad as of now, it will get worse, please keep that in mind

/////

Life’s a pill that’s hard to swallow  
All my demons scream the echoes  
And I’m cleaning blood off a bathroom wall  
A fractured heart and a shattered soul

/////

Tommy wasn’t usually someone to be described as quiet or patient. He had a tendency to always say what was on his mind, to always shout his opinion to the stars as if they would ever listen to him. However there were sides of him, periods of time, where he could be silent. Where he would refrain from speaking and just watch and listen because words can be so hard to find in the times they would help the most. He hasn’t had one of those times since before Wilbur died. 

He still remembers the last time it had happened, it felt so long ago but it couldn’t have been more than a few months. Tommy was wandering around the cliffs where he and Tubbo would mess around and hang out. Where they would be for most of the days before the other went into political power and barely had time for his best friend anymore. He was heading towards a bench near the edge, surrounded by a small grove of trees, but when he came closer to the spot he heard soft guitar strings being plucked like they were the strings of a golden harp. It wasn’t the beginning of a song, but it wasn’t the ending either. It was somewhere in the middle, an instrumental riff amidst a lyrical break.

“Are you alive or just breathing? Is it living when you’re dreaming?” A soft voice rang from a place behind the trees in front of Tommy, just out of his sight. The voice was male, strong, but whispered in a way that made it seem fragile. It seemed familiar in the way that sounded nearly identical to a voice Tommy’s heard hundreds of times before, but couldn’t place because of the subtle differences as it sang. The way it resounded within Tommy, not just because it was familiar, but because it held so much emotion- too much emotion- for it to be a stable pillar of singing, causing a few voice cracks and pauses showered in low gasps and sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

“I’ll be gone and karma will leave a note.” Tommy stepped forward slowly, afraid to alert the singer of his presence, too scared to make them notice him, too afraid to be seen when it meant this beautiful voice would become silent and Tommy wouldn’t get to hear the rest of the song. He slowly made his way around trees and over stray leaves and sticks that could give him away.

“Are you alive or just breathing? Does god know it when you’re kneeling?” As Tommy got closer and closer the voice got louder, but it still seemed so quiet and private that he almost felt bad for intruding. But like a siren’s song it lured Tommy forward, a sound so wonderful and warm and inviting that he couldn’t possibly turn it away. The guitar’s notes faded and grew with each moment the mysterious singer’s fingers brushed over its strings and left them the next. With what Tommy assumed was a building chorus, the guitar picked up pace a bit and the notes started blending together more to create a coherent melody. 

“Cause when I’m gone, when I’m gone, I hope you can see ghosts.” With one more step Tommy would see the singer in clear view, just one more tree to move past, just one more pile of leaves to step over and he’d see who was in so much pain that their voice couldn’t stay steady for the life of a song they sang to no one but themselves. For some reason, Tommy didn’t want to move further, he didn’t want to see who was singing, he didn’t want to know that someone he knew possibly very well was hurting. Tommy was never the best at dealing with emotions well, he was impulsive and rash and he says things he doesn’t mean in the heat of the moment. He only cries when no one’s looking, too scared of looking weak, too scared of being looked down on because he was young and he was already so tired of being at the bottom.

Tommy willed himself to go forward. Even if he couldn’t do it well, he wanted to help this person, he wanted them to know that he was there, that they weren’t alone, that they could have someone to lean on, even if he wasn’t the best for the job. He stepped forward, he looked towards the bench he and Tubbo used to sit on together. The first thing that registered to him was brown hair. Then that the guitar was ending, that the notes were fading out into the air and silence came full force, broken then by a sigh of pure want for something that they couldn’t obtain. One of the last things Tommy took notice of was the actual identity of the person singing. 

“Wilbur?” Tommy called out, he hadn’t talked to Wilbur for a few days, he was always just out of his reach, always just a few steps ahead. 

The older man turned sharply from his spot on the bench, guitar clutched tightly in one hand and the other carting through his hair nervously, as though he was scared of something, of anything, Tommy would say at that moment. Tommy wasn’t sure whether that was the right reaction or not. 

“Tommy?” Wilbur asked, a silent question of “how long have you been there?” just left to hang in the air. It was only then that Tommy noticed the shiny tracks of tears that covered Wilbur’s face.

“I- uh- I heard you singing,” Tommy said as he walked forward and sat on the bench next to Wilbur, “What was the song about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Tommy.” Wilbur was a good man, Tommy knew. He’d always been there for him, always helped him through tough times, always gave him advice for his problems. But something was off today. Today Wilbur was the one with the problem, the one who needed help, the one who needed someone and Tommy was the only one near enough to provide that, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how and it was slowly killing him. 

/////

Only one of us will make it out alive  
I’m turning into a monster  
You better run and hide

/////

“Tommy,” the way Wilbur said his name, like it was something precious, like it could be broken without a single care, gave Tommy goosebumps- like there was something about to happen, something big, something scary, something that would stay in his memory for longer than he willed it, “go camping tonight, stay out of the city for the weekend.” 

Tommy thought about a lot in that moment. He thought about how ridiculous of a topic change that was, about the lyrics of the song Wilbur was singing, about how weird he’s been acting lately as well, about how Wilbur’s been living like he’s still got all three lives, how Wilbur’s been getting more and more erratic in his decision making and everyday choices, how Wilbur’s been so vague with his activities lately, Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur.

“He- hey, what’s this about now?” Tommy stuttered out, unsure of himself, of whether he was reading too much into this or if he had a right to be as worried as he was.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Wilbur repeated, as if he was a ghost haunted by a single memory that only he can recall.

“Oh,” he continued, “and bring Tubbo along too, would you?” It sounded like it should’ve been a request, but with the way Wilbur had stated it, the sentence began a demand. 

They soon fell into silence as Tommy nodded in answer to Wilbur’s question. Silence that only lasted until Wilbur began to cry for what was probably a second or third time based on the tear tracks across his cheeks. Tommy froze. He didn’t know what to do with his brother crying next to him. He didn’t know what to do with the tears running down Wilbur’s face, quick and hot if the redness in his face was anything to go by. He didn’t know what to do with the expression he wore, a mix of anger and sadness and yet nothing at all. Tommy just didn’t know what to do. He would try though, he’d try anything if it made Wilbur feel better because Wilbur deserved the world and more. He was just so good to everyone.

“Wilbur,” Tommy started, unsure of himself and if what he was saying would do any good, “what’s up man?” He cringed at his own awkwardness. To try and ease his guilt at being useless in such a situation, he just tried harder to comfort Wilbur. Tommy raised a hand gently (and almost reluctantly), placing it on Wilbur’s shoulder like he thought he should. 

Wilbur repeated himself again, his voice cracking in a couple places and a pause occurring between a couple of words, “Nothing you need to worry about, Tommy.” But he continued, turning towards Tommy, a look of pure nothing covering his face like a mask, the only part of him you could see were the tears still dripping down. It was a Wilbur Tommy had never seen.

“Tommy you have to go. You have to go out of the city and bring Tubbo along, maybe go visit Techno, wherever he is…” Wilbur sounded sad, but his face betrayed no thoughts he might’ve had, it was completely blank. Tommy just nodded along again, he couldn’t find the will for words. 

/////

I’ve tried bein’ optimistic but it doesn’t seem to help  
So I’ll just have to admit this is the hand that I’ve been dealt  
I’m not bein’ pessimistic, just bein’ honest with myself

/////

Tommy left soon after Wilbur told him to as not to become unwanted because he had overstayed a welcome that wasn’t even extended in the first place. He went to find Tubbo and the other was found at the city gates, talking with one of the guards Tommy couldn’t name. Tubbo was using his presidential voice, one Tommy wasn’t familiar with yet. It sounded foreign, like the voice didn’t belong to Tubbo, like someone else was speaking for him. Tommy didn’t like it, it made him uncomfortable and uneasy and a little unnerved to hear his best friend (if he could still be called that) sound so… different.

Of course Tommy knew that Tubbo had never dreamed of becoming a politician. He always looked more towards subjects like biology or animal care, so the presidential voice wasn’t something he had practice with, or that he knew how to perfect. He wasn’t very good at speaking to large groups of people, he was socially awkward, and he couldn’t even give a proper handshake. Tommy could at least do that. But Tommy didn’t want to be too involved in politics, that’s why he didn’t take Wilbur’s offer to be president. Of course, Tubbo didn’t know that Tommy was asked first because he tends to become self-conscious of those types of things, those ones where he’s not picked first, where he’s picked as a second choice, as second best. The insecurities ride around in his head for so long that he becomes even more shy and reserved because he just doesn’t think he’s good enough to be a first choice anymore.

Tommy planned on never telling Tubbo how Wilbur showed up at his house the day before he did the same to the other, dressed up in a way that wouldn’t draw attention as he walked down the streets of the city, but would still make this a diplomatic experience. Tommy still remembered the look of pure surprise on Wilbur’s face after he declined his offer to become the new president. His older brother had wrongly assumed that the younger would take the role without hesitation because of his lively, people-focused personality. If that really were his true personality then the job of president would be perfect for Tommy. However, he was just an insecure, socially awkward teenager who didn’t know what to do for the rest of his life and he didn’t want the entirety of a nation resting on his shoulders before he even turned 17. 

Before Tommy could even think about interrupting the conversation between Tubbo and the guard, his friend noticed him loitering around the area and shouted to get his attention, voice slipping back into its usual high pitched and happy tone. Tommy didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t think Tubbo would notice him so quickly, he didn’t think Tubbo even thought about him anymore. He had no idea what to say.

“Tommy?” Tubbo called again, but in a more questioning tone, waving hand slowly dropping back to his side as he said a quick goodbye to the guard and started walking toward his friend. Tommy jumped when Tubbo placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly, too caught up in his thoughts to notice his old friend approaching him. 

“Tommy are you alright?” Tommy wasn’t sure how to answer. Was he alright? Not really. Should he tell Tubbo? Probably. Would he? Would he burden his friend with useless worries and fretting about nothing that would ever actually happen? He couldn’t do that, not to Tubbo, not now. He could simply relay the fact that Wilbur wanted them out of the city for a few days. It was probably for some sort of surprise for them, or maybe some construction. Tommy was most likely worrying for nothing, but he couldn’t shake the nerves, the uneasiness, the feeling that something bad was going to happen, that Wilbur was going to make a mistake so bad there would be no coming back from it. Tommy felt so much dread that if he left it just might crush him. 

But if he didn’t… would that solve anything? Maybe this was something that was supposed to happen, maybe Wilbur needed to make such a mistake, maybe Tommy needed to take Tubbo away so neither of them got dragged down with Wilbur. And if that was the case, if leaving would save Tubbo from suffering the consequences of Wilbur’s potential mistake then Tommy had to go. He couldn’t make Tubbo suffer because he couldn’t handle some stress.

“Tubbo,” Tommy had started, interrupting his friend calling his name over and over trying to get through the wall of thoughts blocking his senses, “let’s go camping.”

“W-what? Camping? What abou-”

“You deserve a break, big man. And Wilbur thought we could do with some... hanging out time, you know? Just the two of us, like old times.” Tommy tried to smile, tried to ease Tubbo’s worries of his new job and his friend’s behavior. It didn’t really seem to work, Tubbo’s lip was still captured by his teeth, being chewed and bit, and he still stared at Tommy like he was something broken, something with fractures and cuts, something in pieces, something he needed to piece back together like a puzzle of glass. 

“Are you- are you okay, Tommy?” There was so much more to that question than the surface level wonderance of his welfare, Tommy knew. He could tell that Tubbo wanted more details, he wanted information. He knew Tubbo actually was worried about him, he must look terrible for his friend to be this concerned. He was also certain that Tubbo was asking in that question if he needed some company or if he really thought Tubbo needed a break. And being completely honest, Tommy didn’t know. He didn’t know if he wanted the company or not, if Tubbo needed a break or if he was doing just fine in this new position, or if he was just listening to Wilbur for once. It ate at him, not knowing why he wanted Tubbo out of the city. Maybe it was the bad feeling, maybe he actually was the clingy one between the two of them, or maybe it was none of the previous and he just wanted to spend time with his best friend again.

“Tom?” Tubbo called for him again. He was so stupid, thinking about spending time with his friend and yet ignoring him at the same time. 

“Yeah? What’s up, Tubbo?” Tommy finally looked Tubbo in the eyes. His friend looked so worried and Tommy hated himself for making Tubbo look like that, just like he hated himself for leaving Wilbur when he seemed so empty and alone, but really was there anything he could do about either of them? The least he could do was act normal and follow Wilbur’s wishes.

“I- Tommy you- what did you say about camping?” Tommy smiled again for a second because thankfully Tubbo was diverting and changing the subject.

“I thi- well, Wilbur thinks, that we should go camping or something, leave the city for a day or two.” It was technically a lie. It wasn’t. Tommy could never lie to Tubbo, not ever. 

“Oh, you talked to Wil?”

“Yeah, yeah, just came from talking to him actually.”

“Oh,” Tubbo repeated, “and… camping was all you two talked about?” Tommy might’ve stopped breathing right then and there because Tubbo knew- of course he knew- that there was something else, something that was bothering Tommy so much he could hardly focus on anything other than it. He knew, and he was right because Tommy was unfocused and worried and could barely stand to be keeping still. 

“No,” Tommy replied, unable to lie to Tubbo, even if they weren’t as close as they once were, “but Wilbur just thought we should go somewhere, just the two of us.” And now Tommy was repeating himself, just as Wilbur had moments earlier but Tommy didn’t recognize what this could mean, he didn’t recognize it at all.

Tubbo looked cautious, as if he was scared that Tommy would shatter and break down with the slightest wrong word. As if talking to Wilbur had unlocked some secret part of him that just begged to be destroyed and was slowly killing him from the inside out.

“Sure, Tom, let’s go camping,” Tubbo said to his friend with a smile, trying to ease his unknown worries, even just a little. It didn’t seem to work, Tommy didn’t smile back, he just sort of… stared. And once he realized he was staring he jerked back as if shocked, nodding hurriedly and then quickly ran off. Tubbo was worried. Really, really worried. This was unusual for Tommy because he’s loud and abrasive and energetic whenever he can be and even sometimes when he shouldn’t be and this Tommy was quiet and spacing out and anxious and Tubbo didn’t think he liked it at all.

/////

We don't talk  
We're not enough  
And the storms slowly arise

/////


	2. Falling Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW// explicit descriptions of suicidal thoughts and self-harm //TW
> 
> Tommy thinks, maybe a little too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stating yet again that there is explicit self-harm depicted in this chapter and thoughts of suicide please do not read if this has the potential to trigger you

/////

We don’t talk  
We’re not enough  
And the storms slowly arise

/////

Tommy woke up the next day in tears, shaky and on edge. Nightmares had chased him throughout his sleep, visions of bloody swords and pale skin, of torn suits and ram horns, of long coats and loud booms, of bright flames and crumbling walls. It all seemed so unreal, like nothing like that would ever happen, yet at the same time Tommy almost thought he wasn’t dreaming because it was so realistic and those emotions he felt were so genuine, the fear of falling and drowning and being alone, the panic of being separated from someone you love so much, the dread of knowing bad things were going to happen and nothing could be done, the overwhelming grief of something lost that he couldn’t remember. 

He absentmindedly packed a few things for camping with Tubbo later that afternoon, nothing much, just what was needed or what Tommy felt he couldn’t leave, even for a couple of days. A bandana or two, a journal to write in, flint and steel for a fire, a couple of torches, a few bottles of water, a lot of snacks, a map, and his two favorite discs, Cat and Mellohi. Tommy also slipped a knife or two in the pack, for if they encounter monsters along the way, he told himself as he stared at the dried reddish-brown spots of blood on his wooden floors. 

The spots had been there for a while, Tommy just didn’t think he had the heart or the strength to clean them up yet. Even just looking at them brought back memories. The glint of metal in the setting sun, the feeling of being so overwhelmed and yet so empty at the same time, the way he thought he was drowning and he wasn’t anywhere close to water, how his lungs burned because he couldn’t breathe- he didn’t want to- and he was choking on the weight of the words that could’ve stopped him, had anybody said them. 

Nobody noticed how he no longer wore short sleeves. Or if they did, they just never said anything. Because they don’t care about him, supplied his brain easily, as if it were the purest truth, the only thing it knew. Tommy knew that all he does is make mistakes and hurt the people surrounding him. He’s rash and impulsive and abrasive because he just wants to be known, he wants acknowledgement and attention, even at the cost of his friends. He just wanted to be noticed by someone, anyone, for any reason. 

Tommy needed the attention, the eyes on him, he needed it so that he didn’t disappear, so he wasn’t forgotten, so he could leave a mark. The spots on his floor drew his eyes in once more. The blood was no longer wet, it had dried out long ago and had turned almost brown in color, cracks forming on the edges of each splatter. Tommy remembered the pain, not from his arm, but from his heart. It felt like he was stuck underwater, anchored to the seafloor and unable to swim up to the surface, everything was blurred and happening so fast yet so slow and he falling, but he was swimming, and his chest was burning, and it all hurt so much but at the same time he couldn’t feel a thing. He was numb, but also hypersensitive. He was fixated on climbing back to the surface and he didn’t take notice of the water filling his lungs or the screams catching on his tongue, but he felt the burn behind his eyes and the soreness in his limbs. 

All the pain in his heart and his head was so much, too much to handle and that’s why he cried, that’s why he grabbed the knife, that’s why he shakily pressed the knife into the skin just below the inside of his elbow. It hurt a lot and he couldn’t press the blade down hard enough, he was too weak, but he needed the distraction. So instead he lifted it away from his arm and brought it down swiftly and swiped it across his pale forearm so fast he didn’t have time to think about the pain. Tommy figured that was the easiest way to do it because it didn’t hurt, the faster his hand moved, the deeper the knife went, the more he bled, the less it hurt, the better he felt.

It started as just a distraction, a way to not focus on the raging and roaring storms in his head, a one time thing. It became his bad habit. It wasn’t every night, just everytime Tommy felt a little too sad, a little too empty, a little too overwhelmed, a little too angry, a little too weak. Once every few months turned to twice a month turned to three or four times a week quickly as he spiralled, one little thing wrong and suddenly the urge to slice open his arm and watch the blood drip out of the cuts and down to his wrists and over his fingers and onto the floor became overbearing, dictating his every decision and always being near the forefront of his mind. 

He didn’t like it and Tommy knew it was bad, he knew it was ruining him, but he couldn’t stop, he was addicted to the relief it gave him and the way it provided an escape. No one knew, or if they did they didn’t care. Tommy wasn’t exactly subtle. His breath would hitch anytime someone even came close to touching his arm, he became terrified anytime someone mentioned his clothing or that he should change, he felt a stab of envy and maybe regret every time he saw someone else roll up their sleeves. Tommy wasn’t subtle, he knew that if someone paid enough attention to him, they’d notice. But nobody has ever said anything and Tommy’s heart breaks everytime he thinks about that fact. Even Tubbo, Tommy’s best friend that he’d die for without a second thought, or Wilbur, his older brother he looked up to so much, neither of them noticed or said a thing. That hurt him more than the cuts ever did. 

Tommy finally looked away from the spots on the floor, but his gaze was caught once again, this time on the full-length mirror sitting in the corner of his room. The top half was shattered and the bottom half was cracked in enough places for it to look like it fell. Like it was an accident. In some ways, it was an accident though. Tommy didn't really mean to hit it, it was a reflex, a reaction to the emotions swirling in his head. 

Memories resurfaced, ones he thought of often. Tommy was taken back to the day he and Tubbo had their first fight. It was stupid, back when they were in a war once more and there were more important things to fight over. Tubbo had gotten upset that Tommy was being reckless and going into every battle he could, not seeming like he cared about his safety at all. And Tubbo was right because he didn't care if he got hurt, he wanted to get hurt, he wanted to be in pain, he wanted to feel something real again. He had been hurting himself then too. Tommy had been glad for the long-sleeved uniforms and the long tiring work that distracted him from the urges. The only thing he wasn't glad about was Tubbo's worry, and normally he'd pride himself on having someone worry about him, on having someone care if he wouldn't come back. 

But that day was a bad one, the thoughts and the wanting wouldn't leave him alone. If it had gone on any longer, if Tubbo hadn't stopped him from going out into that last battle, then he might not have come back. He wanted to go out there, he wanted to die, he wanted to beg someone to kill him just so he could finally rest and everything could be quiet. But Tubbo's hand caught on his shoulder as he tried to leave their tent and his eyes pleaded to Tommy all the words he wanted to say, but was too afraid would come out wrong. 

They stayed there for a minute or so, just staring at each other, waiting for the other to say the first word, to start the conversation. But Wilbur had called out to Tommy, had asked if he had changed his mind, if he was still coming. Tommy had been about to yell back, but Tubbo had rushed to beat him to it and told Wilbur that Tommy had come down with something, that he didn’t feel up to it. Tommy remembered being furious at the time, but now as he looked back all he felt was an overwhelming longing for the times that would never return. He wished he had handled it better, he wished he hadn't let his emotions lead, he wished he hadn't yelled and snapped at his best friend of all people. He had told Tubbo to leave him alone, that he didn't need his pity or worry, that he would be fine. He remembered how he thought that day was the day he was going to die, how he wouldn't have been fine, but he just said that because he didn't want Tubbo's unnecessary grief.

Tommy could vividly recall the look that clouded over Tubbo's eyes and the words he had said, their usual honey-coated tongue now dipped in poison. 

"Fine! Then die out there for all I care, see if I come to the funeral!" Tubbo had shouted, gaining looks from other soldiers that were near the tent. Tommy could have cried. He wanted to. But he couldn't, not in front of Tubbo, not in front of his best friend, not in the middle of their camp, not in the middle of a war. Crying could wait until he was by himself, until after he shook Tubbo's hand off his shoulder and stalked off towards Wilbur's tent to be alone. He looked everywhere but he couldn't find anything sharp in there that Wilbur hadn't taken with him to fight. Instead, Tommy simply shrugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves and scratched at the cuts already there, his nails dug into his skin and left dents and lines and the blood trickled down his arm, dripping off of his fingers onto the hard ground. 

That was the first time he realized he didn't need a knife to feel something. That was also the first, and so far only, time that he had almost been caught. He had stayed there, in Wilbur's tent, for longer than he'd like to admit. He stood there, watching as the blood slowly stopped flowing and as it dried and cracked on his skin. He was so mesmerized by the feeling of watching his own blood that he failed to notice the hours tick by until he heard cheering voices and the tent flap rustling. He was shot out of his reverie and scrambled to pull his sleeve down, just barely in time for Wilbur to step through the opening and into the tent. They made eye contact and Tommy felt his feet move and shift to cover the blood on the ground absentmindedly. He used his other hand to cover the one that had blood dried on the skin and the fingernails. Wilbur looked at Tommy like he was see-through, like all his secrets were laid bare. Like he knew.

"Tommy? What are you doing here?" Wilbur had asked then, with a confused head tilt, his eyes scanned Tommy for anything suspicious, anything off. It was a habit he had picked up in the war, analyzing whoever was in front of him because anyone could be a spy, and everyone had secrets. 

Tommy had answered simply that he and Tubbo had had a fight, that he needed some time alone. Wilbur nodded and that was the end of it. Tommy questioned Wilbur about the shouting going on outside the tent and what had happened at the battle site. Wilbur had seemed solemn and Tommy had expected a loss, but with no casualties. It was the opposite, they had won the battle, and subsequently the war, but they had lost a significant amount of soldiers along the way. Tommy suddenly felt guilty for wanting to go simply to die. He had a feeling that Wilbur would've been taking it much worse if they had won (or lost) and he had to lose so many soldiers and his brother in the same night.

Tommy wanted to think that Tubbo would cry if he died, that Tubbo would miss him, that Tubbo would insist on planning the funeral. Tommy wanted, he really desperately wanted, to think that Tubbo would think about him in the years to come and give a bittersweet smile to the world every time the name Tommy would come up in conversation, every time he remembered his old friend, every time he heard the music of Cat or Mellohi, every time he heard an obnoxiously loud laugh. And Tommy had really wished that if he ever did die, on purpose or not, that Tubbo would forgive him for being such a bad friend, for not always being there, for being selfish, for only thinking about himself and how he felt, for never going out of his way to help anyone, for existed and living life like he did.

They went home a week after that battle had been won and Tommy still had yet to speak with Tubbo again. He had moved into Wilbur's tent for the nights they needed to pack up the campsite. He avoided Tubbo the best he could, but even if they somehow found themselves together and unable to leave easily, Tommy just ignored him because, of course, Tubbo had tried talking to him more than once. Tommy hoped it was to apologize and not to rub it in that they didn't need him to win battles anyway, that Tommy was useless, that he was just a waste (of space, of breath, of time, of love, of life, of anything and everything). Tommy didn't like to gamble, he didn't like not knowing the outcome of a conversation, so he ran from it and didn't let it catch up to him. 

Tommy was never the marathon type though, he liked to sprint, to use all his energy in one fluid time lapse and leave everything behind him. Tubbo was the opposite, he worked slow, he paced himself, he didn't waste time, but he didn't spare it either. They were two sides of the same coin, a sprinter and a marathon runner. It was because of that that Tommy knew he couldn't run forever, he couldn't run for long enough for Tubbo to forget because Tubbo would catch up to him, would run ahead of him and block his way, causing him to stop and face this head on. It was one thing Tommy would change about Tubbo, the only thing. He just caught up too fast and Tommy was never ready for him whenever they met on the racetrack.

Tommy thought he was getting better at running, it had been a week after all. However they were finally home and Tommy was tired. He had just fought in a war and fought with his best friend and he fought with himself everyday and he was over it. He wanted to move on from this life, he wanted another chance to be better, to be stronger, to be happier. 

He decided then that he was going to do it, that day, that moment, that room. He went digging through his chests and found the largest and sharpest knife he had and he was going to do it. He took his shirt off as fast as he could manage and gripped the handle of the knife tightly as he pressed the point of the blade to his stomach, gently pushing to see how hard he'd have to stab himself for it to go in deep enough, quick enough. He pressed and it only created an indent. He pressed a little harder and it hurt a little, but it didn't draw blood. He pressed even harder and a small speck of blood popped up from around the point of the blade and he winced. The slower he went the more it hurt, he knew.

Tommy lifted the blade and he closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. It would finally stop. He wouldn't be in pain anymore, he wouldn't make everyone else suffer with his existence. He only had one life left and he had planned to end it then and there, but something stopped him. A laugh. He heard it through his window, it was faint and muffled, but he'd recognize it anywhere. Tubbo. 

Slowly, Tommy had opened his eyes and as his gaze trailed over his hands, gripping the handle of the knife much tighter than needed, and down the knife towards the sharp point that looked directly at his stomach, and then to himself and to the small cut he had made just seconds ago- still slightly bubbling with blood- he felt a sudden strike of fear and threw the knife. He didn't know why he was afraid, or what he was scared of, he just knew he had to get the knife out of his hands. It flung across the room, shattering the upper half of the mirror as the handle hit it head on. The noise it made was loud and made Tommy flinch. He turned toward the window and looked down to see Tubbo standing in front of his house with Fundy, they were both staring up at his room questioningly and the second they saw him they turned their gazes toward the door. 

Tommy couldn't breathe, they were going to try and check on him, they were going to ask what the noise was, he was going to have to tell them what he almost did. He was going to be pitied by his friends because he wanted to kill himself, because he wanted to die, because he was weak and he couldn't handle anything, he wasn't strong, he wasn't like Wilbur or Techno, his brothers were strong and could handle anything while he was weak. Tommy couldn't even handle being the president like Tubbo could, Tubbo excelled at his job where Tommy would've failed, but that wasn't the point because Tubbo had a spare key and Tommy could hear the door opening and he was panicking and he couldn’t breathe.

He ran over to the other side of the room to grab the knife and he heard the pounding of footsteps on his stairs in time with the beating of his heart. Tommy slid the knife under the bed and pulled a long-sleeve shirt over his head just a second or two before the footsteps reached his door and Tubbo and Fundy walked through. The moment their eyes found him, in the center of the room, fear blatant in his eyes (both from almost being caught and from the thought that he almost actually went through with it, that instead of finding him scared out of his mind, they could’ve found him dead), breathing heavily, and clutching his left arm with his right hand, both Fundy and Tubbo raced towards him. Tubbo was the first to reach him. He set a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and tried to look into his eyes, but his friend only flinched away. Fundy had been behind Tubbo and when he reached the two a moment later, opening his mouth to say something, Tubbo turned and gave him a quick shake of his head before gesturing to the door. Fundy hesitated, not wanting to leave Tommy when he looked like that, but he slowly nodded and left, trusting Tubbo to fix this.

Everyone had heard of their fight, had seen how they weren’t talking, how Tommy was ignoring Tubbo the best he could. But everyone also knew that they were going to talk and make up sooner rather than later, they could all see clear as day the longing looks Tommy would send after Tubbo the second his friend would turn away from giving him the same looks. Fundy knew that this would be their chance to talk things out, to get back on track and go back to normal, so he left. And as he walked back towards the door and down the stairs and out of the house as quietly as he could, he heard Tubbo saying something to Tommy very softly, something Fundy felt he wasn’t supposed to hear, something he thought was just for the two of them, something personal, something he was going to ignore. 

After Fundy had left and it was just Tommy and Tubbo, Tommy finally started crying. He hadn’t cried when he first went into his room and slammed the door shut, he hadn’t cried when he searched for the knife, he hadn’t cried when the pressed the blade point into his stomach, he hadn’t cried when he was almost found out, but he cried and cried as Tubbo hugged him and gently asked what was wrong, what that noise was, if he was alright. Tommy cried and his tears bled into Tubbo’s shirt as he pushed his head further and further into the crook of his friend’s shoulder. Tubbo’s hands absentmindedly dragged across Tommy’s back and his arms and Tommy cried harder because it felt like home, a comfort he hadn’t had in years, not since he was little and his father actually cared and Wilbur and Techno were still living with him and he and Tubbo were still the best of friends, as close as two children could get. 

It took what felt like both hours and minutes simultaneously for Tommy to calm down enough to speak. Tubbo had asked if he was alright, like that mattered, like it wasn’t obvious that he couldn’t even remember what being alright felt like. Tubbo repeated his question, looking Tommy in the eyes, gaze not straying for a second, not to the tear tracks running down his face, not to his fidgety hands, not to his shuffling feet, Tubbo kept his gaze strictly on his friend’s eyes and that terrified Tommy. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul and Tommy’s soul was so broken and dark and he didn’t want Tubbo to see the part of him so he turned his head down to the ground, avoiding eye contact. He mumbled out to Tubbo that he was fine, but it wasn’t taken seriously, they both knew he was lying. Tubbo asked if this was because of the fight they had had a week before. Tommy nodded, it was the partial truth, he couldn’t bring himself to say the full truth, not then, not now, not to Tubbo. He didn’t think he would be able to handle the pity that Tubbo would give him, Tommy didn’t want to think about how their relationship would change if he told him. So he didn’t. He kept nodding until Tubbo just hugged him tighter and didn’t ask anymore questions, muttering apologies over and over until the sun went down a while later and Tubbo had to leave.

They didn’t talk about it, not the next day, not the following week, not even months later to where they were drifting apart again and Tommy still wasn’t better and nobody knew how to help him, not even Tubbo because he didn’t have the full story, he didn’t know everything that Tommy had done. And now, it was so long in the past that Tubbo had probably forgotten it. Tommy hadn’t though, it was one of the few times in his life he actually felt at home, that he felt safe. 

Tommy sighed as he looked back at the pack he had been mindlessly stuffing it with whatever his hands could find as was drawn into his memories. This was going to be a long couple of days.

/////

Tell me what it is that I can’t see  
Tell me now, oh, tell me now  
Who is it I’m supposed to be

/////


	3. Teardrops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur didn't- couldn't- leave his symphony unfinished and there was only one more line to play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Wilbur chapter before more plot comes in!

/////

Tell me what it is that I can’t see  
Tell me now, oh, tell me now  
Who is it I’m supposed to be

/////

Wilbur didn’t wake up the next day because he didn’t fall asleep the night before. He didn’t attempt to sleep because he knew that if he managed even just an hour, images of fire and the sounds of manic laughter would plaque his mind and curse his dreams, turning them into nightmares filled with senses of deja vu he couldn’t understand. They seemed like dreams, nightmares really, but the more he thought on them the more they turned into something like memories. He knew none of it had happened yet, he was sure, but Wilbur just had the intense, overbearing feeling that it was going to happen, sooner or later, sometime in the future and he, nor anybody else, could stop it. The idea that he would do something like that, that he would be the cause for so much grief, it terrified him. Wilbur was utterly, terribly, afraid and he had no clue how to feel better. 

He thought about going to his father or twin brother to tell them about these troubles, but Wilbur had soon realized that Phil never really cared for him, or Tommy for the matter, not like he did for Techno, and Techno couldn’t care less about his brothers, he only had enough love in his heart for their father, Wilbur was sure. Wilbur and Tommy were always forgotten by the both of them, it’s why they started to rely on each other more often than not. It’s why Tommy was the third person Wilbur had thought to go to because he knew that no matter what, Tommy would be there for him. Tommy should’ve been the first though, he would have been, had Wilbur not wanted to keep his brother out of this dark haze he was lost in. Wilbur knew Tommy looked up to him, saw him as not only a brother, but a role model and a leader as well, and he desperately wanted it to stay that way. 

Wilbur was also aware of the fact that he was being consumed by a darkness within him, something he had no idea how to control. It was overbearing, tearing at his soul and crawling all over his skin, ripping at his muscles and grappling with his mind in a match of tug-o-war. Peace and a home were all Wilbur wanted, were all he ever wanted and he had that so why was his head torn between staying as the good guy or becoming the bad guy? He didn’t want to be evil, he didn’t want to be bad, he just wanted his head to be quiet for once. The only thing Wilbur wanted at that moment was to be in the company of his brother, his rambunctious, energetic brother who always managed to make him smile. 

A genuine smile made its way to Wilbur’s face for the first time that day, and probably that week, or maybe that month, as he remembered some of his favorite interactions with Tommy. The first to come to mind was a day he and Tommy were simply messing around, running through the city and just being kids again. Tommy was asking him something, or maybe he was trying to give him advice- Wilbur wasn’t sure, his memory was getting more and more hazy as the days went by- and he accidentally called Wilbur “Wilby.” That was one of many times he had felt an overwhelming sense of adoration and care for his little brother, who vehemently denied ever letting the nickname slip. 

Another time, one Tommy probably couldn’t remember, was when Phil had let Wilbur and Techno see Tommy for the first time. Techno had already made little baby Tommy cry and Wilbur remembered clearly how distraught he and his brother were at the sight of their new brother crying when they had just met. Wilbur remembered comforting Techno and saying he probably just wasn’t used to seeing hybrids all that much. Wilbur remembered how he went up to baby Tommy after Techno gave a strict nod and left the room. Wilbur remembered how he looked up at Phil with wide eyes, asking a silent question, and how Phil had given him a small nod with a smile on his face as he handed the baby to Wilbur. And Wilbur very distinctly remembers how, even though he had a high pitched child’s voice, he started singing to his little brother for the first time. Wilbur remembers how Tommy had stopped crying after a few moments and had started listening to Wilbur’s singing, occasionally letting out a small laugh. 

That was the first time Wilbur made a promise to himself that he’d always sing as if Tommy was the only one listening. He promised that he’d always go out of his way to protect his little brother, that this child would not grow up feeling as unloved and second-best as Wilbur had, that he’d always have a reason to laugh like he was then, that he would have someone to lean on whenever times got tough, that Wilbur would always be someone he could look up to. Wilbur hated that he was going back on those promises, that he was becoming a different person, someone he would kill to keep Tommy away from, someone he hated. He hated himself for avoiding Tommy, he hated himself for pushing him away, he hated himself for letting Tommy find him yesterday, he hated himself for being weak to the thoughts inside his head.

Wilbur wasn’t crying again. He wasn’t. He wanted to, he wanted to cry until his room was flooded with the embodiment of his emotions. He wanted to drown in a salty sea of tears made because he was changing for the worse and he couldn’t stop it, he didn’t know how. But he wasn’t crying. It was like he didn’t have any tears left, as though even if he was crying yesterday, his tear ducts had run dry and there was nothing left for him to cry out. 

Wilbur wasn’t crying. He had no right to. He was the one ignoring Tommy, not the other way around. He was the one changing, the one that hadn’t slept in days because how could he sleep when all that ever happened when he did caused him pain? He forgot how many days it had been since he slept, maybe it was only two, but it could’ve been four, or maybe five, and really he had to sleep sometime, even just an hour would help. But even just an hour was more than enough time to haunt Wilbur until the daylight and after. 

Wilbur just wanted to see Tommy again, he wanted to hear Tommy’s even and calm voice, the one he used specifically for comforting those he was close to, he wanted to feel Tommy’s hand on his shoulder, secure and strong, he wanted to look into Tommy’s eyes that, no matter how hard he tried, always showed how he felt clear as day. Wilbur just wanted his little brother back next to him. It made him want to cry even more when he thought about how he wouldn’t be seeing Tommy ever again, not if he actually went through with his plans. Wilbur was almost glad that Tommy had found him yesterday because if he hadn’t, then Wilbur would’ve had to have sought him out today to tell him to leave the city and that would just be suspicious. Wilbur didn’t want to be suspicious, he wanted this to be unexpected and a surprise, he wanted to watch the city he built up from the dirt burn and Tommy had to be nowhere near it. 

Tubbo could leave as well because Wilbur knew that he was Tommy’s best friend and Tommy would hate him even more if Tubbo got caught in the midst of everything. But everyone else? Fundy, Quackity, Dream, Sapnap, George, Karl, every villager that took refuge in their city, everyone just passing through, everyone else would die and burn along with Wilbur’s greatest creation. It was poetic in a way. Wilbur had created the city, he had helped build it, he had fought wars for it, and now he was going to be the one to destroy it all. Wilbur liked poetry, and music, and this city was his unfinished symphony and tomorrow he would finally be done with it, it would be finished, every line written, every note played, every person dead.

A grin crept up Wilbur’s face like a centipede because if he was going to be portrayed as the villain in his own mind, then the villain he shall play.

/////

I’m running out of teardrops  
Let it hurt til it stops  
I can’t keep my grip  
I’m slipping away from me

/////

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't rlly like this chapter, but I have more ideas for this fic and later chapters and they need my attention more rn because they're more complicated, in my opinion, so I hope you enjoyed this ahaha


	4. Arsonist's Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy knew something was wrong, he could feel it in his heart and his head and everywhere in between, something was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW ///// descriptions of blood and minor gore, explosions, and death

/////

I’m running out of teardrops  
Let it hurt til it stops  
I can’t keep my grip  
I’m slipping away from me

/////

Tommy almost thought his brother had died during the night when he and Tubbo walked past Wilbur’s house and saw him in the window on their way out of the city. He looked like a ghost, dulled yellow clothes and grayscale skin, fuzzed around the edges, shape quivering as though he was made of liquid, eyes showing no emotion but something pure, something unknown that Tommy couldn’t name. But he wasn’t dead because the next second Tommy blinked and Wilbur was back in color, back in solid shape, eyes shining at him with something hidden underneath their surface, something powerful and dark and Tommy was scared for his brother. Sure, he was alive, but those moments the two had shared surrounded by nothing but trees, blue skies, and Wilbur’s cries the day before had left a mark. Tommy wasn’t sure what was happening in his brother’s life, but he was sure that Wilbur would tell him when he’s ready to. And Tommy would listen. Tommy would always listen to his brother, no matter what. 

That’s what made it so hard, thinking that Wilbur didn’t want to talk to him, that he was suffering, clearly, and yet he wouldn’t lean on his brother like he used to when they were younger. And sure, Tommy is still young, 16 and not having a birthday for a few months to come, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have the common sense and decency, nor the emotional maturity, to help his brother when he needed it. Now, Tommy could be immature, but he’s 16, he’s been through war and lived, he’s been betrayed and he’s still standing, he’s been hurt an impossible amount of times and stayed smiling for everyone else, staying making jokes and laughing, even if the jokes were dumb and immature. 

Tommy was 16, and he was immature at times, but that was only because he had seen what happened to people who were too lost in the serious aspects of life to ever find joy in anything. Tommy didn’t want to be one of those people. His head already made him unhappy enough, he didn’t need to weigh himself down even more by taking joy and laughter out of other people’s lives thanks to his jokes. Even if he occasionally got yelled at for his jokes, for having “inappropriate timing” or saying things in “bad taste” he still lightened the dark mood his friends liked to keep around for some reason. 

Maybe that’s why his friends liked him because Tommy always felt like he was in a dark mood, like there was no light at the end of the tunnel, like he was so deep underwater that he couldn’t see the sun shining on the surface. It made him sad, it made him depressed, it made him bored and tired, and it made him overwhelmingly him, unfortunately. Tommy didn’t really remember the last time he felt happy with himself and if that changed, he didn’t know what would happen to the relationships he’s built with everyone in the city. Would Tubbo still be his best friend if he knew that Tommy couldn’t even make himself happy? Would Fundy still look up to him as an uncle if he knew the kind of thoughts that Tommy desperately tried to drown in his mind every day? Would Quackity still joke with him the same if he knew Tommy was so unstable that one wrong word would have him slitting open his arm? Would anybody treat him the same?

He knew that word travelled fast in this city, it always did. And he knew that if even one person found out how he felt inside, that everyone would know within a week. Tommy found that really depressing because that just meant he had to try harder than ever to keep this… darkness inside of him away from everyone else, to keep it hidden.

“-ommy? Tom?” Tubbo called to him, waving a hand in front of Tommy’s face worriedly. Tommy startled, looking at his concerned friend with wide eyes. He hadn’t noticed that he had begun to zone out, he didn’t notice that they had kept walking and were now well out of the city. He didn’t notice that Wilbur didn’t say goodbye. 

“Tommy are you alright?” Tubbo had asked, trying to lean forward while walking to look into Tommy’s eyes. Tommy let out a shaky breath and nodded, not trusting himself to talk without spilling all of his secrets to his best friend.

“Are you sure? You don’t really look alright, you’ve been zoned out since we left.”

Tommy swallowed hard before trying to speak, slowly and carefully so he didn’t break down and cry or say everything that was on his mind, “I’m fine Tubbo, just thinking.”

Tubbo let it go and they kept walking, though Tommy had upped the pace so he would have less time to think about what ifs and what would happens. About half-way to the site where they were supposed to set up a camp and stay for a few days, Tommy felt a chill go along his spine and then a cold pain in his heart, almost like a ghost was dragging its fingers across his back before plunging its entire hand into his chest. The feeling that someone he cared about, someone he loved, was in danger flashed through him and Tubbo was right beside him so there was one other person it could’ve been. Wilbur. 

Tommy’s brain was into overdrive trying to figure out what the feelings meant because sure, Wilbur was acting very strange the other day, and Tommy thought he was a ghost when they walked past his house, but that all couldn’t mean- no. No, Wilbur would never do something like that, he was Wilbur, he was strong and smart and he wasn’t weak like Tommy. He couldn’t be.

“Tubbo,” Tommy had said urgently, knowing exactly what the feeling meant and what he had to do, “Tubbo I- I gotta go.”

“Wha- Tommy why? Did you forget something?”

“No, no, no, but something is wrong,” Tommy pleaded with any deity out there that Tubbo would understand and let him go, “something is wrong and I nee- I need to find out what it is, for sure.”

Tubbo looked almost shocked for a few seconds before his face shifted into a kind smile, the one that always made Tommy feel at home, like Wilbur’s voice did, “Okay Tommy, I’ll keep on ahead and get the camp all ready for you when you return, alright?”

Tommy nodded before turning around and getting started on walking back along the path towards the city. He paused a few feet into heading back to turn towards Tubbo, who was already watching him walk away, and gave him a small nod and a mouthed thank you. Tubbo simply nodded back and wished Tommy luck. Tommy knew he would need it, but he doubted it would do much good, he could tell already that whatever had happened or would happen wouldn’t be persuaded to change with luck. He turned once more, determined to reach the city in time to at least save Wilbur from whatever had given Tommy this bad feeling.

Once the tops of the city’s tallest buildings were in sight Tommy started running, the feeling was getting more intense the closer he came to the city’s gates. As the full skyline came into view Tommy had to stop and lean on a tree for support as his lungs nearly burned from running for who knows how long. As he shoved off his backpack, he could almost see the gates in the distance and he knew he had to keep moving forward because the bad feeling was growing and growing and consuming him from the inside out.

Tommy looked towards his home, the city he had spent most of his life in, the city he had fought wars for, and he felt a sense of both pride and grief. Pride for the city he had helped to build with his brother and best friend, and grief for something he didn’t know. It felt like he had lost something so dear to him and he couldn’t even remember it’s name. His eyes caught on the clocktower near the northeast edge of the city, it was one of the tallest buildings there and easily caught the intrigue of anyone passing by the grand stone walls. Seeing it tower over the walls, even though it was just a clocktower, seeing the intricate detail carved into the sides and seeing the greenery growing up the building, vines and flowers and moss covering a good percentage of it, still crawling towards the top.

Tommy saw the explosion before he heard it. He saw the bright flash and the growing cloud of smoke climbing into and polluting the blue skies, turning them gray and dark. Tommy heard the explosion before he felt it. He heard the loud booms and the resounding echoes of TNT going off all over the city. Tommy felt the explosion because the second he registered the city was exploding was a second too late to run away (or, in a stupid act of bravery, run towards it). He was pushed away from the tree by a wave coming out of the city gates and through the crumbling walls. Tommy hit the ground harshly and he couldn’t breathe. The breath was knocked out of his lungs easily from the impact of his back on the hard, treaded path. He stayed down as more explosions kept going off throughout the city he had loved so dearly. 

Once the pounding in his ears had subsided enough to allow Tommy to tell that no new explosions were going off anymore, he had tried to stand, only to fall back down because he was shaking so horribly. Tommy was incredibly disoriented, he couldn’t tell where the sky turned into the ground, or how close that tree next to him was, and he couldn’t tell if the birds were going crazy or if it was just his ears ringing from the blasts. In his mind there was only one thought, one goal, he had to get to Wilbur, he had to find his brother, he had to make sure he was okay. 

Tommy’s vision may have been shaky and blurred, but he was able to feel around for the nearest tree and use it to stand up. His legs still shook as he put his weight on them, but he managed to stay upright for long enough to start trying to walk. He struggled to move at all, his body didn’t want to listen to him, but Tommy would make it listen because he needed to see his brother and he needed to see him right then, he wouldn’t be able to calm down until he was sure that Wilbur was safe. Tommy was steadily moving forward, as fast as he could, and eventually, when he felt like he was about to collapse and his breathing was heavy and labored, he had reached the city gates that had since fallen apart in the explosions. He stepped through the remains of them as steadily as he could, but it took him so long and what if Wilbur was dying and Tommy was nowhere near because of a fallen and broken gate? It wasn’t that far, but Tommy couldn’t move quickly enough to get there faster because his body didn’t listen and he tried his hardest, but the fastest he could go was maybe a tad bit slower than speed walking. 

Tommy was crying, but he barely noticed. The tears blurred his vision further and as he entered the city he saw rubble and broken buildings and people on the ground, unmoving. He saw some people, moving and cradling the unmoving ones. Through the smoke and stray fires and tears, he saw who he thought was Karl, stuck under a wooden beam from a building that had collapsed, and who might’ve been Sapnap, trying desperately to pull him out. As he passed by where the church used to be, he thought he saw George, trapped like Karl was, but underneath nearly an entire crumbled building rather than a single large beam, with Dream running towards him, screaming his name. He saw who might’ve been Quackity, shoving through the debris and climbing over the beaten down buildings, looking almost feral as he was searching for something, or someone. 

Tommy should’ve stopped to help or check on them. He didn’t. He kept moving forward, kept slowly making his way through the city, trying to find his brother. He was about to drop to the ground out of exhaustion and pain, but he had heard something, a shout, that sounded like his father, that sounded like Philza. Tommy immediately forgot all about how he was hurt in the explosions and how he had been forcing himself to even walk and he ran. He ran as best as he could, stumbling and limping the entire way, but he ran. The adrenaline made the pain go away and his brain couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that if Philza was there, then Wilbur must be close by. So he ran towards the sound of his father’s voice. 

There was still one building semi-standing, one wall gone and the others partially broken and not far off from falling completely down with the first. The ceiling had crumbled and fell, leaving large, and some broken, beams and varied rubble and debris across the floor. All that was left of the building was a small, nearly square area with three barely standing, short walls. Tommy looked around the area and found the large clock from the clocktower on the ground, broken and cracked so bad he could barely tell that it used to be beautiful. Then he realized that that semi-standing building used to be the clocktower. 

Tommy started running towards the fallen tower and he could hear his father’s voice clearer, he could hear some of what he was saying because the ringing in his ears was dying down as well.

“Wilbur please, Wilbur!” Tommy was right, Wilbur was there, but he might’ve been dying, why else would Philza be pleading with him? Tommy tried to run faster, tried to push himself harder, and as he rounded one of the falling walls, he saw his father and he saw Wilbur, they hadn’t noticed him it seemed, and they had looked to be fighting. Wilbur had this look on his face that Tommy couldn’t name, it was angry, it was sad, it was empty, and yet it looked overwhelmed. Wilbur’s eyes were wide, pleading, and his hair was everywhere, wild and untamed, so unlike his brother’s personality. Wilbur looked near crazed, all angles and sporadic movement. Tommy was about to say something, about to ask if they were okay or what happened, but before he could his eyes registered the sword in Philza’s hands, the sword he was holding out at Wilbur, the sword Wilbur was staring at as though he was starving for it’s touch. Tommy went to shout, went to ask what the hell was happening, when Wilbur had nodded and then Philza suddenly struck him with the sword, stabbing it right through his abdomen, tear tracks evident on his face as a sob left him while he pulled the sword from his son’s body as it fell.

Only then did Philza look around and see that Tommy had watched him just stab Wilbur from only a few feet away. He turned and he ran, away from Tommy, away from Wilbur, away from the son he had just scarred, and away from the son he had just stabbed. Tommy ran to Wilbur, drawing his brother’s attention. Tommy had seen the look from before fade as he was stabbed, it had changed into something that looked almost… peaceful, resigned, or happy even, something grateful. But now his brother’s face was stretched in pain and horror at the sight of Tommy coming near him. 

“T-Tommy,” Wilbur had choked out, “what ar- are you... doing h-here.” His voice was shaky, shakier than Tommy had ever heard and it was uneven and there were too many pauses and gasps and wheezing sounds between words for it to sound normal and Tommy had to tell himself that it was because of the smoke that made it hard to breathe and not because of how his brother had just been stabbed. That couldn’t have happened, that couldn’t have happened, their father wouldn’t have just killed one of his sons, no, he wouldn’t. Tommy didn’t want to believe he would, but his brother was laying there in front of him dying and Tommy didn’t want to believe, he wanted to wake up, wanted this to be a nightmare.

But it was real because Wilbur was whispering his name again, sounding incredibly pained, but also sounding somewhat freed, like he had just escaped a prison he had been trapped in his entire life.

“Wilbur wha- what happened, why did he- who-” Tommy tried to get out all of his questions, but he could only stare down at Wilbur as the blood poured out from his stomach wound, where the sword had plunged into him before being ripped out. Blood was starting to gather and pour over the ground and the rubble beneath his body. Tommy was crying still, and he was crying harder than he thought he had ever cried before as he watched his brother bleed out and he could do nothing to save him. He crouched down next to Wilbur, placing a hand in his hair and one on his shoulder and trying to calm his sobs and think rationally, think of something to help him.

“Tommy… c-calm down ple- please, for me.”

That just made Tommy cry more, tears freely running down his face and falling from his chin. Some had landed on Wilbur, others on the ground, but Tommy felt like he could fill an ocean with the amount of tears he was creating or with how much blood Wilbur had flowing out of him. Wilbur had placed one hand over the wound and it was covered by the blood within moments. He took his other hand and brought it to Tommy’s arm, his entire face twisted in concern, like Wilbur wasn’t the one dying in the rubble of the city he had built from the ground up.

“Tommy, are you h-hurt?.”

“Wilbur,” Tommy spit out, ignoring the question, “Wilbur you can’t- you won’t die here, I w-won’t let you!”

Wilbur smiled and Tommy felt sick, he felt like he could throw up at any moment, both from the feeling of the blood pooling around his feet, but also because his brother was dying because their father had stabbed him and he was smiling like he asked for it. 

“I’ll finally… be free, thank you, Tommy f-for leaving today,” Wilbur had said, moving his hand off of Tommy’s arm to his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. He gently took their hands and just let Tommy cry as the life slowly faded out of him. As Wilbur’s head turned and hit the ground as he no longer had the strength to hold it up, Tommy started yelling, for anyone to come and help them, for some type of miracle to happen, for Wilbur to stay alive. He screamed as Wilbur’s hand became limp in his grasp and he fell completely to the ground, draping himself over Wilbur’s body, no longer moving with the slightest of breaths. Blood seeped into Tommy’s clothes, probably ruining them, but he didn’t care, he would throw them out anyway because there was no way he wanted to be reminded of this night. Eventually, people had started to grieve in silence as some began to gather and search for the dead, while others started to make a large grave for them all just outside the city and surrounding areas that got destroyed. 

It was Fundy and Niki that found Tommy, still crying and trying to scream over Wilbur’s body. Niki gasped as the scene and tears pricked in her eyes, but she solemnly walked forward to try and lift Wilbur’s body up to where she could drape one of his arms over her shoulder and almost carry him towards the carriage that was already nearly full of the dead. She was crying the entire time, but she still managed to work through it and carry her best friend towards the carriage that would take him to the large grave. She was stronger than Tommy, he could barely keep it together. He was forcibly pulled off of Wilbur so Niki could get to him, but Fundy struggled to keep him still, to keep him from running back to his brother’s body. 

As Tommy watched Niki load Wilbur’s body onto the others in the cart, he cried out in pain and was finally able to shrug off Fundy. Fundy went to grab him again, but he didn’t run to Wilbur, he just stared at the spot where he died and cried. Fundy knew he needed to be alone, so he and Niki left Tommy there to grieve as much as he needed to. 

Tommy stayed there until the smoke cleared and the sky was revealed to be dark and the sun no longer out. He stayed there until Tubbo had finally returned to the city after hearing the explosions, he was too far away to make it in time to save anyone, the same thing that happened to Tommy, but Tubbo at least didn’t have to see someone he loved so much killed in front of him. Tubbo had desperately asked where to find Tommy, he was almost frantic, not knowing if Tommy was too far away to be hurt or not. Niki was the one to tell Tubbo where his best friend was. 

Tubbo had found him soon after, in the remains of the old clocktower. He didn’t know much of what happened, only that Tommy had been there for hours and he never once moved, never once strayed his gaze. Tubbo assumed that someone had died and really the only one close enough to Tommy to make him act like this was Wilbur. Tubbo was saddened at the thought of Wilbur dying, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine what Tommy was feeling. So when he found Tommy, he only whispered to announce his arrival, not wanting to scare him or cause his friend to lash out. He slowly walked over to Tommy, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder and guided him out of the clocktower’s rubble. He guided him out of the city and down the path they had taken earlier that day and out to the cabin they were supposed to stay in. 

Tubbo had figured that Tommy needed time away and it would give everyone else time to rebuild some of the city while Tommy grieved. Even though, realistically, Tubbo knew that Tommy would never get over his brother’s death, it would haunt him and follow him around until the day he died like a ghost, playing with his emotions and killing him slowly. Tubbo thought maybe he could help by keeping Tommy away for a while, they could stay in the cabin and not go back to the city until Tubbo was sure that Tommy could handle being back there. He would let Quackity take the reins of leadership until Tubbo and Tommy returned, he could control everything until Tubbo could return with his best friend in tow.

/////

When I was a child, I heard voices  
Some would sing and some would scream  
You soon find you have few choices  
I learned the voices died with me

/////

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will focus on Tommy's mental state after this all happened and then maybe ghostbur will join the cast? We'll see ahaha


	5. i want you here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter about the aftermath of Wilbur's death and the more obvious effects it had on Tommy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter, but I wanted to just brush over the topic of Tommy's coping and how he's managing before diving into it straight on :]
> 
> TW ///// descriptions of self-harm and references to death and suicide

/////

When I was a child, I heard voices  
Some would sing and some would scream  
You soon find you have few choices  
I learned the voices died with me

/////

Tommy never liked talking about his emotions, it was always stressful because he never knew how to articulate exactly how he was feeling in a way that would make people understand. He always felt that it might be easier to listen to those voices in his head than to try and gain enough pity to be helped. Tommy didn’t like pity. It made him feel even weaker than he already did because not only has he hurt himself, not only has he contemplated ending his own life on multiple occasions, but pity meant that his friends wouldn’t even care enough to treat him the same. The only people that never seemed to pity him had been Tubbo and Wilbur. And now Wilbur was… dead. Wilbur was dead. Tommy still had trouble believing that. 

It had less than a week. Less than a week since Tommy had watched his father kill Wilbur. Tubbo had tried talking to him on multiple occasions, but Tommy never spoke back. Every time he tried, the words he wanted to say always got bunched together, forming a dam and clogging his throat, letting nothing through, barely even allowing himself to breathe. Tommy didn’t know if anyone else knew that Phil had been the one to kill Wilbur. He hadn’t told anyone and nobody else seemed to be there so why would they know? 

Tommy didn’t want to think what people would say if he told them. Tommy didn’t think anyone even knew how Phil had treated him and Wilbur growing up, how absent he was, how he made them feel as if nothing they did was ever enough because Techno always somehow did better. Once, Tommy had overheard Phil talking to Techno about voices in his head, saying that he understood what Techno was going through, that he tried not to listen to them, but sometimes everything was just too loud. He didn’t understand then, it was years and years ago, but he thought that maybe now he understood. Maybe voices ran in the family. Tommy didn’t think Wilbur had voices, he had never said anything. Techno had the most obvious voices, demanding for him to kill, to spill blood, to murder, and to commit the most violent acts. 

Tommy’s brother didn’t mention the voices often, but people had speculations. Theories. Because why would someone ever act in such a way if it wasn’t for the booming voices in their head telling them what to do? Because clearly, only the insane are monsters, and the ones with the quiet minds can do no harm.

If Techno’s voices were shouts and explosions, then Phil’s were whispers and candlelight. Obvious, in the dark, nearly invisible, in the light. Whenever Phil was around other people, he tried to quiet the voices, to ignore them. And for the most part he succeeded. However, when he became alone, after the kids had gone to bed, or the friends had left, whenever Phil’s world fell silent, the voices grew. Louder and louder with each passing second until they became overbearing, telling him to do horrible things, unspeakable things, screaming at him to hurt both himself and others.

Tommy’s voices were somewhere in the middle. Tommy didn’t really know how to describe them. They weren’t loud and bright, but they weren’t dim and quiet either. They were opaque, not see-through, but not in solid view. They were at a normal volume, not yelling, but not mumbling. They didn’t demand violence, but they did want pain. Tommy wasn’t told to hurt others, just himself. The voices weren’t demanding, like Phil’s and Techno’s, but instead gave suggestions and asked him to do things, to find out a new way to hurt himself. There were no “kill” chants, only questions that Tommy had no answers too. Tommy’s voices like to ask him to do things that Tommy knew would kill him, yet he contemplated doing them anyway. They’d suggest that he jump into lava, any that he saw, everytime without fail. Anytime a sharp object, a knife, a sword, a piece of broken glass, anything was in his field of vision the voices always asked him how long he thought it would take for him to bleed out if he were to stab himself with them.

Even looking out of the cabin’s windows has him hearing the voices ask how much he thought he’d bleed if he punched the glass or how many pieces he thought would get stuck under his skin, forcing him to dig them out and bleed more. Tommy didn’t like the voices. He doesn’t know how his brother and father have dealt with them for so long. The voices had always been there, but they had been background noise, nothing that he paid much attention to, something he thought everyone dealt with. Then he had gone to war. Tommy had seen the horror of death and had seen many lives seep out of limp bodies. He had run with his friends into the heat of battle and had had to keep running as he saw them fall never to get up. Tommy had had to sit in the infirmaries, wishing on any gods that existed to keep his friends alive, just for his prayers to never be answered. He had lost plenty of nights of sleep to instead stare up at the stars that filled the sky, muttering questions under his breath for only himself and the wind to hear. 

The voices got worse after the second war and his fight with Tubbo. The voices got worse after he had almost killed himself, only to be unknowingly saved by his best friend and nephew. The voices got worse after Wilbur died. They were louder now and Tommy didn’t know how to cope. They became less suggestions and questions and started becoming demands. They followed him everywhere, shouting and screaming at him to do things, to hurt himself, to die. Tommy wondered many times if this had happened to Techno and Phil too. Tommy also wondered if he was supposed to live like this, with the voices following him. He wondered if he had to just learn how to deal with them, like Phil had, or if he would someday listen to them and snap, like Techno.

Tommy didn’t want to live through either of those options, although one did look better than the other. At least if he listened to the voices he could get to see Wilbur again. 

“Tommy?” Tubbo called out from Tommy’s doorway. He had forgotten that he left the door open as he just incessantly stared out at the window. Tubbo had only said one word, but the way he said, the questioning lilt, the small inflections and the tone, the way he accentuated the two different syllables, the sharp “t” and round “o”… it sounded almost like Wilbur used to say his name. 

Tommy didn’t turn to look towards Tubbo, but still drew his gaze away from the window and to the panelled wood flooring, hanging his head low, trying to silently ask Tubbo to stop talking like that, stop talking to him, stop acting as if Wilbur hadn’t died and Tommy wasn’t steadily breaking from it. Tommy hadn’t said anything since his brother’s death, he knew Tubbo hadn’t been there to see Wilbur’s body, but Tubbo knew. Tommy was certain the Tubbo had asked someone or maybe he just guessed and had nothing confirmed, but he knew to an extent what had happened. Nobody knew the full story. If anyone actually looked on Wilbur’s body they would see a stab wound and probably think he had gotten impaled by falling debris or something and Tommy didn’t know if that would’ve been better. A freak accident, or filicide.

“Tommy, I- uh... I made you something to eat, it’s out in the kitchen if yo- um, if you want it? It’s nothing much, but I don’t think you’ve eaten all that much since we came here and I want to make sure you’re doing okay?” If only Tubbo knew how not okay Tommy was right then. If only he knew the thoughts that ran through his head every day. If only he knew how desperate Tommy was to see Wilbur again, ready to do anything at all just to get another minute with his brother. Tommy finally turned to look at Tubbo. His friend looked almost like Wilbur used to whenever Tommy would get sick. They had the same small, worried pinch in between their eyebrows, both of their brown eyes were bright with worry, shining with tears that wanted to fall but couldn’t. Wouldn’t. They had the same sad smile, trying to get Tommy to feel better at their own expense, portraying happiness and love to him, even though they didn’t feel it themselves. 

For a second, Tommy could almost see a faded image of his brother standing behind Tubbo, a hand on his friend’s shoulder, the same look across his face. He could see Wilbur there, yellow clothes, beanie, guitar, cloak, and all. He just looked dull, like the day Tommy and Tubbo had left the city, when Tommy had seen Wilbur through the window of his house. The day he had died. The image wavered for a moment, edges rippling like waves in water before it disappeared. Tommy wanted to cry again. 

“I’ll… should I leave you alone then? I’ll be down the hall if you need anything, but I- I was thinking about going to check how the clean up and construction is going,” Tommy didn’t respond, he never did, “I’ll probably leave sometime later in the afternoon, I’ll… I’ll tell you when I head out, okay?” Tubbo nodded to himself before turning back out the door as Tommy’s head fell. Tommy may not be alone, he’s got Tubbo and Tubbo tries, he really does. But Tubbo could never replace Wilbur, no matter how much he wanted to because while Tubbo had his own space in Tommy’s heart, that space could never grow enough to take over Wilbur's. And even though his brother was now dead, Tommy knew he would never be forgotten. The empty space in Tommy's chest that once was filled to the brim with love and affection and memories was now drowned in grief and mourning, and Tommy didn't know if he could handle being alone anytime soon. He wished Tubbo wouldn't leave because while Tommy did need Wilbur, and while Tubbo would never fill the hole left by his death, he needed Tubbo as well. And when Tubbo left? Well Tommy didn't know if he could trust himself to even think about what would happen if he was gone for too long.

/////

I'm losing my mind  
Don't leave me behind  
We need a bit more time  
'Cause I don't want the world to turn without you  
And I don't want the sun to burn without you

/////

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy alone in a cabin what will he do


	6. can you feel my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy is alone. The voices get a little too loud to handle.
> 
> ///// depictions and talk of self-harm, talking of and reference to suicide, mentions of death, implied panic attack, references to abuse /////

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs are in the summary pls read them before reading, but I assume if you've made it this far you're good but idk I put them anyway just in case :]

/////

i'm losing my mind  
don't leave me behind  
we need a bit more time  
'cause I don't want the world to turn without you  
and I don't want the sun to burn without you

/////

Tommy was crying again. Nothing big had happened, Tubbo had just left a moment ago and Tommy was now alone in the large cabin. He had spent so much time hiding his emotions, putting on a happy face, that whenever he was alone the feelings and the voices just became so overwhelming he couldn’t help but cry the second a door was closed behind someone’s back. He was shaking, enough that it would’ve been visible had anyone else been in the room with him. Tommy hated when that happened, when he only cried because he was feeling too much and had too little time to actually express it. It made him feel weak, made him feel hyper-fixated on finding a way to stop the overabundance of emotions.

That day was already a bad one, just like every other day since Wilbur had died. Tubbo leaving didn’t make anything better. Even if Tommy had stopped replying to Tubbo, and rarely ate the food he would make, and could barely bring himself to look his friend in the eye, he still needed Tubbo there because he knew that as long as he was there with someone else he wouldn’t do anything. Tommy knew that even if they weren’t in the same room, as long as they were in the same house he wouldn’t do anything, but now, with Tubbo gone, Tommy wasn’t sure what would happen. 

He was scared. Scared of the voices, how loud they would get. Scared of himself, of what he would do in the time it took Tubbo to return. The voices were already loud normally, and they only grew in volume the longer Tommy was left alone. The voices had started yelling at him the second he heard the faint click of the front door being closed behind Tubbo. 

Tommy groaned as he flung his head back against the wall he was standing next to, trying to quiet the voices. It didn’t work, it only gave him a dull throbbing headache as the voices demanded that he do it again, harder and harder until his skull cracked from the impact. He closed his eyes roughly, squeezing them shut as if the darkness that overtook his vision would make the voices go away. Tears of frustration welled up underneath his eyelids, slipping out and falling over his red face. His hands curled in on themselves, nails denting the pale skin of his palms, as he brought them up to his ears, trying to drown out the voices with his own screams while he fell to his knees. He screamed, he screamed, he screamed, but the voices were louder still.

One of his hands came off of his ear to hit the hard, wooden floor repeatedly, one hit after another, strike after strike, until his hand was red and scraped and definitely going to be bruised the coming morning. A bit of blood was bubbling up from his knuckles on the places that hit the inconsistencies in the floor that broke the skin of his fist. Tommy opened his eyes as he felt the blood start to drip down his fingers and was transfixed by the sight. He loved watching his blood flow out of his body because he could almost convince himself of what it would look like when he finally died. 

Tommy had stopped screaming as he stared at the blood on his hand, bringing his other hand to scratch at the marks and cuts on his still-closed fist, making more blood pour out of the wounds. He didn’t register the sound of the front door opening again, he didn’t register the rushed footsteps of someone running towards his room, he didn’t register his door being slammed open and hitting the wall.

What Tommy did register was that someone had pulled his hands apart and had wrapped their arms around his shoulders. He registered that he was still crying, but it was slowing down, that his fist was still bleeding, but it was slowing down, that this person gave really good hugs that made him feel safe and made the voices quiet, that his breathing was going back to normal. 

Once his breath and heart rate seemed to be back to their regular beat, the person had ceased in hugging him, backing out of his personal space, but keeping a hand on each of his shoulders. Tommy took his eyes off of the spot his hands were in and looked towards the person, not really expecting anyone specific.

It was Tubbo, which Tommy really should have guessed because, really, who else would it have been? Who else, who else, who else, other than his best friend, the one that’s stayed with him, no matter how annoying he got, no matter how angry or frustrated or sad or anything, no matter what, Tubbo had stayed by his side. Through war and peace, through thick and thin, through anything and everything. How could Tommy have ever doubted that Tubbo was his best friend? Sure, they didn’t talk much anymore, but Tubbo was busy being president and Tommy was busy being… Tommy. History like their’s couldn’t simply be deleted by a few months of distance, Tommy knew that, he did. So why did he still feel like he was lying to himself?

“Tommy? Please, talk to me, what happened?” Tubbo nearly pleaded and how could Tommy refuse? 

“Bad day… didn’t… feel good… wanna feel something different,” Tommy mumbled, voice rough from both being unused and from screaming. He was unsure how to explain his exact thought process because there really wasn’t one, he just wanted the pain and his hand moved without his brain even processing it. He knew that he didn’t want to tell Tubbo everything, he didn’t want to show him the scars, he didn’t want to feel his pitiful gaze as Tommy rolled up his sleeves, he didn’t want things to change. 

Tubbo inhaled quietly, shaky, almost as though he had realized something that was long hidden from him.

“Ah,” he started, unsure of how to approach this subject with Tommy, “me too?” Tommy titled his head in confusion, he didn’t understand exactly what Tubbo was trying to say. He had an idea, one he hated, but that his brain provided, that he wished and hoped wasn’t true. He had an idea, but he wanted to make sure before he said anything. He didn’t want to assume, he didn’t want to out himself, he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Tubbo noticed his friend’s confusion and let out his shaky breath he had been holding as he waited for a response. His hands idly played with the hems of his sleeves as he looked at Tommy, wearing an almost sad expression, one laced with many past tears and future breakdowns and present scars. 

Tommy didn’t like that expression on Tubbo. It didn’t seem to fit with the image he had always had of his best friend, a light in the darkness of Tommy’s mind, a hopeful lamp flickering and hanging above his head in the dead of night. Tubbo was nearly always smiling in Tommy’s memories, sure there were times where he was sad or upset but the times where he was happy or excited always outweighed and outnumbered them. Tommy didn’t know what to do with Tubbo looking so sad. He went to put a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, he opened his mouth to try and find the right but Tubbo just shook his head silently, smiling softly as he took a deep breath.

He took one hand and gripped the sleeve of his other arm tightly, knuckles turning even more pale than they normally were. Tubbo lightly laughed a little to ease the growing tension in the room and closed his eyes for a split second to take another shaky breath before he began rolling up his sleeve.

Tommy’s breath hitched when he realized that he was right about what Tubbo was doing, what he was trying to show him. He didn’t want to be right this time. Subconsciously, one of Tommy’s hands went to his own arm, but this went unnoticed by Tubbo, he was too busy rolling his sleeve up slowly and trying to find the right words to say.

“Tommy… I don’t know the extent of this, or how long anything has been happening, but I want you to know that it’s okay,” Tubbo voiced to his friend, voice cracking in a couple of places as his eyes began to water, thinking of just how bad his friend must’ve been feeling to have the same tendencies he did. 

“I won’t judge you,” he paused in rolling up his sleeve, the end of the loose fabric just under his elbow, “I would never judge you for something like this, that’d be pretty shitty of me, and… I know you probably don’t want to hear this because you’ll think I’m lying… but I don’t care about whatever you’ve done, Tommy. I don’t care. You’ll always be my best friend,” he finished as he rolled his sleeve up all the way to his shoulder, showing off many small white lines etched across his upper arm, some deeper than others, and many looking like they were in groups to the the point where Tommy could almost tell which ones had been done at the same time.

Tommy could’ve started crying again right then. His eyes could’ve welled up with tears and he and Tubbo could’ve cried together, but instead he was just shocked. He didn’t think Tubbo of all people would’ve done some of the same things he had, but here they were, both kneeling on the hard floor of the cabin, tear tracks on both their faces as they realize that neither of them were alone in their dark, inescapable feelings. 

He couldn’t help being nearly transfixed by the scars lined on Tubbo’s arm. Almost none were cut straight across, all were wobbly and tilted and unique. Each ranged in length of depth, some that Tommy could see were even vertical, but those ones were short and barely even deep enough to leave a scar. Tubbo’s gaze hadn’t left Tommy’s face and it had only been a few seconds, but Tommy felt like he had been staring forever. He hadn’t meant to, but he lifted his hand from his own arm and reached it out towards Tubbo’s. Neither had seemed to notice until the tip of Tommy’s index finger touched the edge of the deepest mark he could see on Tubbo’s arm. 

The second their skin touched, Tubbo jerked back, taking his eyes off of Tommy and on to his arm, gazing at the cuts he made. This caused Tommy to break out of his trance and realize what he had done.

“I’m sorry-” they both started before laughing a little to, again, try to ease the tension. Tubbo motioned for Tommy to go first and the younger nodded, pausing before speaking so that he could find the right words and not make Tubbo think he did anything wrong.

“Tubbo- listen, I’m sorry, man,” Tommy started, figuring he should apologize for overstepping a boundary and forgetting to even ask for Tubbo’s comfort level, “I shouldn’t have tried to tou-”

“You’re fine,” Tubbo interrupted, “you did nothing wrong, Tommy, I just didn’t expect it, alright? And really, I should apologize for showing you something like that without even asking, and I wasn’t even completely sure if we were in the same situation, this might’ve been the first time this has happened for you and I just overstepped, so… m’sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy wanted to say a lot of things to Tubbo right then. He wanted to tell him that he didn’t overstep, he wouldn’t have needed to ask, he shouldn’t apologize, it wasn’t the first time, they were in the same situation, but Tommy just couldn’t seem to find the words. 

The only thing he could manage, the only thing his mind was screaming at him to ask, was a small, “Why?” But Tubbo knew what he had meant, he knew what Tommy wanted to know, and he would answer, because they were Tubbo and Tommy and they were best friends and why wouldn’t he want to be truthful about this part of him?

“Well,” Tubbo began, and Tommy could already tell he was getting the full story, no tangents, no lies, no diverging or changing of the subject, just the raw and real truth from Tubbo, “I started… you know… two, or maybe three years ago, but the want had been there for much longer. I’ve known that I was different in the head since I was a kid. And Sch-Schlatt, well, he wasn’t the best father, always yelling about how I was doing and saying everything wrong while we were alone, but as formal and polite as he could be in front of others.” 

Tommy leaned forward more as Tubbo started talking more about his father. He listened intently as Tubbo started speaking more about the bad things his father did behind everyone’s backs, how he would yell and throw things and hit Tubbo. Tommy learned that Schlatt, while he seemed like an okay, maybe a little absent, father on the outside, was cruel and gaslighted Tubbo into believing everything was his fault. That he was the reasons Schlatt would hit him, that he was the reason anything failed ever, that he was the reason Schlatt himself was “just as depressed and suicidal a business man could ever be.” Tommy learned that Tubbo had stopped believing Schlatt once he met Tommy and that made him almost cry with Tubbo. Tubbo had said that Tommy allowed him to see what a healthy relationship was, that Tommy let him see that what his father was doing was not okay and that not everything was his fault and that he had no reason to ever be guilty around that man.

Tommy was proud of how far Tubbo had come, but then he started talking more about after Schlatt had died those few years ago.

“Even after… he died… I still felt his presence in everything I did,” Tubbo explained, trying his best to word everything in a way Tommy’s would understand, “anytime I did anything, ever, I heard his voice screaming about how I fucked everything up, about how he would’ve been beaten for it and I was lucky that he wasn’t there to do the same to me.” Tubbo’s voice wobbled in multiple places to the point where Tommy thought he might not be able to make it through his stories, but he saw that Tubbo was trying, he was trying so hard, not to let the memories get to him and he was so, so proud of his best friend.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” Tubbo started again after pausing for a few moments to catch up to the present, “but I was glad when he died. I feel so guilty about it, Tommy, but I felt almost happy when I heard the news about his heart attack, I felt free, I felt like I could conquer the world because he wasn’t there to stop me anymore and I hate it because I still feel like that.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what to say to that, but that was okay because he didn’t think he should say anything at that moment as it was clear that Tubbo had more to say. So instead of giving words, Tommy only silently placed one hand over Tubbo’s wrist, the other on his shoulder, and guided him all the way to the floor until they both sat side-by-side against the wall. One hand was then moved to Tubbo’s knee, a comforting gesture that allowed him to know that Tommy was listening, that he cared, and that he would let Tubbo speak however much he needed to. So Tubbo continued.

“I didn’t start seriously… you know…” he gestured towards his bare arm and it’s scars with his head, “until we went to war. It was stressful, incredibly so, and I couldn’t handle it most of the time, Tommy. I always looked up to you and Wilbur because of how well you handled everything, but I see now that maybe I was wrong and you weren’t good at handling anything, you were just good at hiding how horrible you were struggling,” Tubbo turned his head to look at Tommy, who’s gaze was stuck on the floor, before turning back forward and leaning his head on Tommy’s shoulder.

“When we fought… Tommy when we fought and didn’t speak for a week I almost killed myself,” Tommy’s head shot up and he looked down at Tubbo’s head still on his shoulder, memories filled his head, memories he thought of just days ago, memories of himself in a similar situation, “I promised myself to never tell anyone, I told myself to never even think about it again, but I feel like you deserve to know, Tommy. You’re my best friend, and I love you, and I almost left you and it’s one of my biggest regrets that I even thought about doing that.”

Tommy could tell that Tubbo was telling the truth, he could tell that Tubbo wasn’t lying, that he wholeheartedly believed every word he was saying, that he was scared to say what he just said, that his breath was quickening and that he needed help. Tommy stopped staring at Tubbo’s head, he could feel that it was stressing the older out, that it was causing falters in his story, it was causing the hyperventilation. Instead, Tommy laid his head on top of Tubbo’s. It left his neck at a weird angle, but Tubbo seemed to calm down and was starting to breath better and Tommy couldn’t move his head then, so he let it stay there. If he got a sore neck, so what? At least he was able to help Tubbo out, even just a little.

“Tommy you don’t know this…” Tubbo whispered, “but you were the one that stopped me from… finishing the job.” A silence stretched out after Tubbo had said that because Tommy was at a loss for words. He had thought that Tubbo was the lifesaver, that Tubbo was the one that could save someone with a quick word and a smile, not himself. Tommy decided now would be a good time for words, after the moment grew a bit more, the tension returning the tiniest bit. There were few words he thought he could say at that time, but he knew still which were the right ones.

“Tubbo you say that like you haven’t done the same thing for me.”

“Really?” Tubbo’s voice was smaller than normal when he said that, it shook more, it sounded more watery, but all the while it sounded so full of fondness for his best friend, knowing that he saved his most important person’s life. It held so much emotion Tommy wasn’t sure why it was directed at him, he felt like it was too soft, too affectionate, too loving. He didn’t deserve it, he didn’t deserve a best friend like Tubbo.

“Yeah,” Tommy whispered back almost breathlessly, understanding why Tubbo was having so much trouble staying in the present and not getting trapped in the past because actually saying what’s happened out loud makes it all the more real and it’s almost like travelling back in time back to when the memories happened, “you wanna… keep talking?”

Tubbo wordlessly nodded before beginning his story with a deep breath, “We had already been back in the city for about three days when it happened to me. You were still avoiding me and I thought I had lost the most important person in my life, my best friend, because I cared too much. I felt kinda lost without you Tommy… I’ve been with other people my entire life and I’ve always gotten attached, and it’s always backfired and I thought that was it. I thought you were never going to talk to me again and I thought we were done being friends, I thought you cut me out of your life.”

Tommy felt guilty. He should’ve known that tubbo would have felt that way, that he would have felt guilty and thought it was his fault that Tommy wasn’t speaking to him. Tommy should’ve known better than to ignore his best friend because of a stupid fight. 

“I was a real wreck, Toms, wasn’t doing anything right, was messing up the smallest things, I felt like a failure and I thought maybe that that all was a sign that it was my time to go,” Tommy kept his head firmly on Tubbo’s, not daring to move in case Tubbo started to panic again, “I- I was about to… you know… before I thought I should at least see some people for the last time so I left my place and I went for a walk. I ran into a lot of people fairly quickly, Niki and Puffy at their flower shop, Quackity and Karl and Sapnap just hanging out together and having fun, and lastly I saw Fundy. We talked for a bit and I was completely faking everything at that point, I was so… tired. I just wanted to go back to my house and… end it. As we were saying goodbye though, Fundy made some sort of joke that I don’t even remember and I laughed, as normal as I could manage.”

Tommy felt like he knew where this was going. He felt like this would intertwine with his own memories and he was right, Tubbo continued talking and he explained the rest of his night to Tommy, how when he walked into the room and saw his friend in such a frightened state he immediately forgot his own troubles and worried about Tommy. Tubbo talked about how he stayed up all night after he left Tommy, thinking about what could have happened, whether Tommy would be okay during the night, anything and everything his mind went over revolved around his best friend and he completely forgot about his plans to kill himself.

Tommy didn’t want to share his side of the story. Luckily, he didn’t have to. Tubbo didn’t ask him to share anything from that night, he didn’t ask what had happened, he didn’t even attempt to sneak across Tommy’s boundaries, he didn’t step over them, he just… let them be. And Tommy couldn’t have been more grateful. Eventually, the serious talk stopped and they stood up from their position on the floor (and Tommy’s neck sure did hurt), Tubbo then guided Tommy to the bathroom where they cleaned his hand up and wrapped his hand in some form of bandages they found in a cupboard above the sink.

After cleaning up Tommy’s wounds and settling down from their emotional highs, each said a quick, but meaningful, “goodnight” and turned into their own bedrooms for the night. 

Tommy didn’t want to think too much on what this would mean for any future occasions of self-harm for him. He didn’t want to think about how disappointed Tubbo might be, he didn’t want to think about anything but sleep and what he would eat for breakfast in the morning because talking with Tubbo left him with absolutely no energy and something in Tommy told him that he’d need every ounce of energy he could get tomorrow because something big was happening. It was like the city explosions again. He wasn’t sure what, but something was going to happen tomorrow and he didn’t want to be too tired when he found out, so tommy went to sleep dreaming of all the possibilities of what this mysterious feeling of something happening meant for him and Tubbo.

/////

can you help the hopeless?  
well, I'm begging on my knees  
can you save my bastard soul?

/////

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for the unintentional break btw I did not mean for it to take this long for the next chapter, but shit happens, and some stuff got in the way of me writing this, I barely managed to write the two one-chapter works and I did those each in one sitting so idk, but I'll try to be better and quicker with the next update!


End file.
